


Some Mercifully Light Land

by DoreyG



Category: Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), The Eye of the Scorpion (Doctor Who)
Genre: Ancient Egypt, Assassination attempts, Canon Possession, First Time, Get Together, M/M, Making Out, Post-Canon, Temperature Play, lots of making out, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s always <i>liked</i> Antranak, of course. It’s hard not to – those calm eyes, those thick muscles, that certain world-weariness that often seemed to be amused. He was lost from the moment that he first saw the man smile, in fact, from the moment he turned to him with a resigned half smirk and counselled him to be a little more sensible about the stealing of fruit in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Mercifully Light Land

Everything is blurred when he awakes, tangled in a way that he can’t quite decide what to think about. He’s immediately sitting straight up in his bed. Breath choking in his lungs, vision blurring around the edges, a dark pressure bearing down on him until he feels like crumpling back to the bed. Crumbling away to _nothing_.

He dreamed…

Well, remembered more accurately. A slight shadow, a dark period in his life. A few years ago now, when another entity had been inside his brain – shifting it, moving it around, changing it into something different just for its own needs. It is a memory that returns every few days, no matter how hard he tries to press it down. Ridiculous, really.

…He recovered.

He still remembers it, though.

He recovered, completely and _utterly_.

…He still remembers it, though, _completely and utterly_.

He slides off his bed, hits the floor with a low _thump_. Heads to the door with the breath now gasping in his lungs. He needs to escape, he needs actual fresh air, he needs the site of the city below him, he needs freedom, he _needs_ -

“Go back to sleep, Fayum,” the soft voice of his guard captain, as he opens the door and finds the man standing there. Leaning against a brick wall and staring contemplatively out at the dark – watching the city, or maybe the stars above it, “I’ll guard against those monsters inside your head, don’t you fret.”

He hesitates for a moment, standing on the threshold.

…That’s how it starts again, really.

\--

He’s always _liked_ Antranak, of course. It’s hard not to – those calm eyes, those thick muscles, that certain world-weariness that often seemed to be amused. He was lost from the moment that he first saw the man smile, in fact, from the moment he turned to him with a resigned half smirk and counselled him to be a little more sensible about the stealing of fruit in the future.

…But.

He’s never acted on his feelings, not once. Would have never even presumed to until… Well, everything. He kept them inside, locked up in a tight box. What would make a man such as Antranak feel in return, after all? He was small, weak, feeble and afraid and so committed to clinging to his omens that he’d never once tasted the world outside. How could he hope to seduce a man such as Antranak, a man who seemed to stand almost with the gods with his bravery and cunning and plain skill?

…He couldn’t.

And, yes, things have changed so much in the past few years. He is pharaoh, Antranak is his guard captain. He is the one in charge, Antranak is the one that has to follow his orders. He is practically a living _god_ -

…But things haven’t changed that much, have they?

Antranak comes in in the morning, bows respectfully, immediately asks if the monsters have been chased away with a teasing grin on his lips. He only sighs in response, continues to court inaction in the only way that he knows how.

And that’s how it continues.

\--

“I’m almost starting to worry about you, Fayum,” Antronak says later that night, settling down besides him with a glass of beer – it’s been a long day, one full of hard work and noisy nobles who still seem unable to accept the simplest change. By now he just wants to lay his head down on his throne and sleep for a bit, “that’s the third night in a row that you’ve woken up terrified. Are you sure that you’re alright?”

It’s only Antranak’s smile that tugs him on, only that wryly mocking edge. He smiles a little, sighs, forces himself to sit up again, “I’m perfectly fine, it’s just… Things.”

“Things?” Antranak raises an eyebrow – it provides, oddly enough, an extra incentive to stay upright, “I thought you were more eloquent than that, boy.”

“I’m your pharaoh. I thought you were more respectful than that, _guard_ ,” he replies mockingly in return, but can’t hold it for long. He’s too tired, too weary – a whole universe of things is pressing down on him and there are far more important pretences to keep up before Antranak, “dreams, and nothing more. Memories, to be more accurate, of… Well, I think you remember.”

“Ah,” Antranak’s face goes immediately solemn – he doesn’t know whether he’s disappointed or touched, “you think right, _pharaoh_. It’s a time that touched most of us, in one way or another.”

He can only nod – careful, tired, relieved at the understanding.

“…Still, it does seem to be touching you a little more deeply than the rest,” until Antranak takes it upon himself to lean forwards, of course. Right into his space, so that their breaths mingle. Right up to the point where they’re staring into each other’s’ eyes much like lovers do, “is there anything I can do? Wake you up when you get too bad? Read you bedtime stories? Sleep at the foot of your bed like some lapdog?”

And…

Oh, the breath can’t afford to catch in his throat. He looks down, faking a cough as he does so. Summons a mocking smile to his face as he lifts his head again – he can play this game, no matter how tired he is, he can maintain the most important pretence, no matter how against it the world seems, “none of those are necessary, though I would like to see you in a collar. It might teach you some _respect_ , Antranak.”

The involuntary laugh that he receives is almost enough to convince him that not saying ‘you can sleep a little higher up if you _want_ ’ was the right decision. _Almost_.

…And that’s how it continues, again.

\--

It’s not that he hasn’t dreamed about Antranak, because he has. _Multiple_ times. It’s just that he hasn’t been able to dwell on it for a while, not with all the… Well, _everything_.

He sprawls naked on his bed, waiting carefully for any noises to stop what he’s about to do. He knows that Antranak is outside – the knowledge simultaneously excites him and drops a guilty stone right to the bottom of his stomach.

He trails his hands along his sides, imagines Antranak doing much the same. Imagines how the man’s callouses would catch on his skin, how the only sort of apology would be a gruff comment on how little work he’d done. He wouldn’t mind, of course, would only spread his legs to invite Antranak in. Whisper encouraging words. Pull the man down for a kiss with lips and teeth and _tongue_.

He hasn’t had much experience, not since he became pharaoh at least, but he remembers being a good kisser. He hopes that he’s passable, at least. It would be terrible to be anything less.

He imagines Antranak finally taking the hint, sliding between his thighs. He imagines the kisses rained down over his face, his neck, his collarbone. He imagines words that Antranak would never say, pressed into his skin in the softest of ways. He imagines the pressure, the heat. He imagines being adored so much that he’d be breathless under it, breathless with the returning affection thrumming through his veins.

He imagines Antranak groping sideways mid-kiss, much as he is now. Grabbing the small pot that lays by the bed and bringing it besides them. The man would be pleased, he thinks – he’s not going into this blind, he’s not simply assuming that the slickness of spit would be enough. He’d be prepared, as always. The oil would slick beautifully over their joined hands.

He runs a hand down his chest, imagines that it’s Antranak’s yet again. Runs it down until he reaches his stomach and then the crease of his hips and then beyond. He arches his hips up awkwardly, blessing his youth. It’s easy enough to find his entrance with one finger, he suspects that he’s practiced this part a little too much.

He thrusts the finger in, grits his teeth around the burn. Keeps himself as still as he can, until he gets used to it, before slowly starting to thrust. It doesn’t take too long for the painful burn to fade away, to be replaced by something a lot more pleasurable. He finds himself gritting his teeth around moans instead.

He adds a second finger, reaches down to grab his cock at the same time to take away from the genuine burn. He stretches himself, as best he can, imagining that it’s Antranak preparing him for his own cock. The vision of them rutting on the bed makes it a lot easier for him – it takes even less time for the pain to fade away, quickly replaced by a buzz that feels wonderful on his skin.

He moves his hips, roughly, feels confident enough to take another finger. He knows that he probably looks shameless, sprawled upon the bed. He can’t find it within himself to care that much. The world is falling apart quickly – becoming something that entirely consists of Antranak and his vision of Antranak and Antranak above him and Antranak and Antrank inside him and _Antranak_ -

He comes, with a yelp that he barely manages to muffle. Finds himself aching a little as he eases down, obviously in need of more practice.

…And that’s how it continues, again and again.

\--

“Have you ever considered getting married?” Antranak asks a few days later, out of nowhere. They’ve just returned from the desert, they’re both covered in dust. He raises his head and looks across the room to his guard captain puzzledly.

“…Pardon?”

“And, yes, that was meant to be a hint,” Antranak only grins, moves closer again – tiny puffs of dust rise from him with every step that he takes, it’s a vision that’s both confusing and amusing to the point where he has to bite his lip to hold back a giggle, “I’ve known you for years now and you haven’t once looked at a girl. Don’t you think that you should settle down?”

“I think nothing of the sort,” he replies easily, and leans back in his chair as Antranak arrives by his side – he can afford it, after all, he seems somehow more sweaty than dusty, “besides, what if girls aren’t really my area?”

“Then you should think of making them briefly your area,” Antranak teases, yet somehow in a sensible way – it’s probably the midday sun that makes his eyes glint so, he’s nowhere near pathetic enough to imagine interest where it has absolutely no chance of existing, “you need an heir, after all, multiple heirs if at all possible. And so many of those lovely ladies are eager to please.”

“How do you know?” He asks archly, and leans back even further – stretching his arms out behind his head as he does so. It’s been a long day already, the sweat is nowhere near cooling on his body, “and I’m young, and so- stop arching your eyebrow at me like that.”

“Noted,” Antranak gives, lowering his eyebrow and watching placidly as he completes his stretch and slumps back to his chair again, “but I know that you agree with me, and so I will continue doing so in my mind.”

“That’s not even possible,” he sighs, with a little roll of his eyes that he knows Antranak is bound to catch – with his propensity to notice absolutely everything “…But fair point. That is an issue, but it isn’t a big one. I _am_ young – and, even if something absolutely terrible was to happen to me, I’m sure that there are already fine people in the kingdom fully able to take up my task. There will be heirs, Antranak, my state of marriage will change absolutely nothing about that.”

There’s a long pause, as Antranak takes that in. He watches so closely that he can see the moment the point is accepted, the moment the man’s mouth curves up in a pleased way that unfortunately makes his belly attempt several somersaults in a row, “there’s nobody that you _want_ to marry, then?”

“Nobody that I _could_ marry, even if I wanted to,” he corrects, giving out a small version of the truth in return for Antranak’s smile – it isn’t much to give away, after all. He’d sacrifice far more for such a prize, “why do you ask?”

“To ascertain if you were indulging in certain nighttime activities due to moping or a certain desire for pleasure” …He’d sacrifice a lot more for another one of those winks and another quarter of that smirk, even if it does make his sweating start all over again, “you’re not as quiet as you think you are, my omnipotent pharaoh.”

He remains sweating and crimson all day. The only boon is that Antranak remains smirking at the very sight of it.

\--

“You’re still blushing,” Antranak says with delight, a few days later. This time they’re sitting in the gardens, under the fronds of a particularly big tree. It’s a hot day, somehow even hotter than that time they exerted themselves in the desert. He insisted on doing paperwork outside and Antranak insisted on accompanying him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” is the only thing he can mutter, blinking sweat out of his eyes and glaring at the man across from him, “no person can blush for that long. It simply isn’t _possible_.”

“How do you know?” Antranak parrots, grins as he signs a declaration with particular venom and knocks it carelessly down into the basket at his feet, “besides, _you’re_ the one being ridiculous. You’re still embarrassed, even after I’ve explained how it’s okay multiple times.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” he retorts grumpily, reaching for the next scroll and almost ripping it with the grabbing force of his fingers, “and I’m not being ridiculous. I took in absolutely everything that you said, even when I wanted to hear it so little that I was considering throwing myself into a pit of scorpions just to escape.”

“Liar,” Antranak dismisses him glibly, and then surges on before he can even _think_ to do anything along the lines of dumping a pot of ink over his head, “masturbation is a perfectly natural urge…”

“I know.”

“That should be indulged in by all people…”

“I _know_ , shut up.”

“Because it releases stress and helps to promote calm and allows people to be fit and ready for the coming day without any of the dangers associated with actual sex…”

“I _know_ , shut _up_.”

“And…”

“Antranak!”

“You see? Embarrassed!” Antranak chirps, with an unholy amount of glee – he actually makes a grab for the ink pot this time, has it snatched quickly away from him and is left glowering instead, “you’re red, you’re twitchy, you’re trying to shut me up by utterly childish means – you’re ashamed of your bodily urges!”

He remains silent, continues glowering.

“…Unless.”

He… Freezes.

Is shooting to his feet in the next moment, trying to grab the pot of ink from the fingers of the laughing Antranak as desperately as possible. In the end the man has to plant a large hand against his chest, shove him back into his chair as he makes a miserable noise and glares so hard that he’s mildly surprised when Antranak doesn’t burst into flames.

“Our dear pharaoh _does_ have a crush on someone!” No such luck. Antranak only keeps laughing, keeps looking delighted in a way so offensive that he wants to sulk like a child, “fascinating… Well, you must tell me who it is. A maid? One of those pretty little things that are always hurrying about and hiding daggers under their dresses?”

“No,” he grumbles, sure that he’s definitely scarlet by now – it’s hard to avoid, what with Antranak _looking_ at him like that, “not my type, as I ‘ve _said_. Besides, they deserve a lot better than me.”

“…The temple prostitutes, then?”

“ _Definitely_ not my type!” He’s probably crimson on top of it, too – Antranak continues to have that effect, that one that makes him so unsteady that he half feels like flopping out of his skin altogether, “and also deserving of a lot better than me. They’re in service to the gods, I’m hardly that high.”

“Others would disagree,” Antranak says archly, and leans forward – only to grab his wrist and drag him that inconvenient bit closer, “other types, then? The temple _priests_ , perhaps.”

“ _No_!”

“The advisors?”

“ _No_.”

“Some of the street people? I know that they all regard you as a God, but it’s entirely possible that one-“

“No…”

“One of my guards, then? I know that some of them are rather pretty, but I’m not sure-!”

He doesn’t answer this time, doesn’t even bother with a denial. He only stares at Antranak wearily, tired and red and rather wanting to get back to his work and ignore the entire conversation. He doesn’t feel humiliated, exactly, but… It’s an odd thing to describe, the aversion when people get too close to a terrible truth. He simultaneously wants to throw up and hit something.

It takes a long time to realize that Antranak has also trailed off and is watching him closely. His eyes are stunning, he’s never really noticed it before. The man is still holding onto his wrist, he’s pretty sure that Antranak hasn’t noticed that in return “…Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing,” Antranak replies eventually, and finally sits back – it takes him a long while to let go, and when he eventually does his fingers trail absently over his pulse points, “that was faintly childish of me, and I apologize. I’ll let you get back to your work now, and will return to annoying you on the subject a little later.”

…Hm.

He still doesn’t protest. He just retakes his pot of ink, finds his quill again and settles down to filling out yet more blasted scrolls. Antranak remains with him until the sun goes down, only drags him from his work then and forces him to eat while jabbing him with little puns and jokes and hints that eventually have him rolling his eyes and relaxing yet again.

…That’s how it starts to change, really.

\--

“You can stop following me, you know,” he sighs tolerantly, about a week later. They’re back in the gardens, but in an entirely different setting – he finished his work for the day, decided to take a walk and only discovered Antranak trailing along behind him about five seconds ago, “I’m not going to tell you who it is, you’re only wasting your time.”

“I would argue that,” Antranak huffs, and comes from behind to stand by his side – he has to look up a little to take him in, shading his eyes. He’s surprised to see an oddly fond smile upon the man’s lips, “I’m not wasting any time. I’m only watching you, as I’m supposed to.”

“As you’re supposed to,” he mimics childishly, and rolls his eyes before he can stop himself – is even more surprised when Antranak’s smile doesn’t fade, actually grows a little _deeper_ as if he’s just become even more fond, “you’ve never watched me this closely before, you can’t blame me for assuming.”

“…I suppose not,” Antranak relents – though that’s hardly the term for it, with a slow smirk curving his mouth and amusement starting to shine openly from his eyes, “but nor can I confirm your assumptions.”

He huffs, resists the urge to cross his arms. That’d only make him appear more childish – and, though Antranak doesn’t seem to mind, that’s still something that he’d rather avoid whilst mid-argument, “ _fine_. I’m still not going to give you anything, though, even if you deny everything and put on that innocent face that’s so-“

“What innocent face?” Antranak mercifully interrupts him before he can slip up and actually spit out his crush, wearing that exact innocent face that really _does_ make it so hard for him to deny the man anything, “and I continue to deny your assumptions, boy. I don’t need to be _given_ anything. Who’s to say that I haven’t already got everything that I ever wanted?”

“You-!”

… _He_.

He spins around with wide eyes, mouth gawping open. It’s only the sudden flap of a bird that stops him from blurting out absolutely everything yet again, ruining Antranak’s mischievous game and turning matters far too serious in less than the blink of an eye.

They still stare at each other for a long few seconds afterwards. Slow.

_Considering_.

And that’s how it continues to change.

\--

That night, unexpectedly, he has another nightmare. It’s odd, really, he thought that he’d had a fairly _good_ day all things considered, but that doesn’t change the fact that when he retires to his bedroom and strips for bed and lies back on the pillow with his eyes slowly drifting shut-

He dreams.

_Choking, choking. Being shoved down through the black. He knows that other people are there, he can feel them there. They’re all talking, a thousand and one voices and they’re not talking, they’re_ screaming _. Screaming! Screaming at the top of their lungs because they’re scared and frightened and there’s a weight on top of them and the weight has a face. And the face turns and the face smiles and there’s a crackle and a thump and a sense of-_

Loss.

He wakes up to a rough pair of hands on his shoulders, a face peering urgently into his. It takes him a long few seconds to realize that it’s Antranak, sitting besides him on the bed. The following realizations, that his sheets are soaked through with sweat and he’s largely bare underneath them, come pretty quickly after that.

“I’m alright,” he says dazedly, trying to clear his head. And then, when the man looks little inclined to move away: “honestly, Antranak, I’m okay. I’m sorry, more than anything – did I scream and summon you?”

At words Antranak finally eases, but only a little. He settles back on the bed, gently tugging at the sheets by his thigh. His hands slide away slowly from his sweat-soaked shoulders, as if desperate to leave some sort of comforting impression behind, “you were moaning, I could hear it through the door. When I poked my head in here you were thrashing around on the bed, I thought it best to wake you before you did yourself an injury.”

“I doubt that I could ever be that violent, even in my sleep,” he says archly… But doesn’t have the energy to maintain it for long. It’s a mixture of things, really – the proximity of Antranak to his nearly naked form, the sweat still cooling on his arms, the memories of the dream still razor sharp and ready to cut his throat, “thank you.”

Antranak only nods in response, looking the tiniest bit uncomfortable. It takes him a long few moments to recognize that the emotion on the man’s face is _concern_ , “was it the dreams again?”

“I… Erm. Yes. The memories, to be more accurate,” stunned by the realization, he stutters over his words for a long few seconds before he manages to catch his breath – the sight of Antranak, peering at him even closer with that strange sort of concern, is almost enough to set him off again, “it’s alright, though, they’re bound to return every so often. I just need to keep working through them, that’s all.”

“…Are you-?”

“Yes,” he summons a smile, watches Antranak tilt his head and shift under it – it’s somewhat hypnotising. It’s probably the sleeplessness and remaining terror talking, but he could almost swear that the man wants to reach out, “or, at the very least, I’d hope so. It wouldn’t do to have you charging in here at the slightest moan, after all. You might find me involved in far more embarrassing activities.”

“We can only hope,” Antranak sighs, smirks a little as his shoulders finally ease – he barely has time to blink before the man is actually reaching out, laying a soft hand over his and holding it there firmly, “if you ever need anybody to talk to about it I’m here, alright? There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help.”

“…Okay.”

And that’s how it continues to change, strangely.

\--

Opposition to his rule is thankfully less than it was to Erimem’s, and his heart still aches a little at that, but there are still some small factions that choose to cause trouble. He sits in on a council meeting, and is left in some despair when the Priest of Isis rises and starts to whine at the top of his lungs

…Is left in even more despair, when the priest turns to Antranak and starts needling him instead.

“Are you sure that you’re guarding the palace well enough?” The annoying man whines, standing on his tip toes in a vain attempt to equal Antranak’s bulk and sneering so hard that he looks practically ready to _pop_ , “I found my shutters unbarred last night, are you sure that nobody can get in and assassinate me?”

“Who would want to?” Antranak grumbles, through gritted teeth, and _pointedly_ keeps his balled fists behind his back – clenched there, as if he’s reminding himself to behave for all their sakes, “I could understand people going for our great pharaoh, perhaps, but you…?”

“Mind your tongue!” The priest snaps, and actually comes around the table in another futile attempt to intimidate – he seems to think that if he lifts his chin high enough and wrinkles his nose he’ll be able to fool everybody present into thinking that he’s capable of threatening _anything_ , “I’ll have you know that I’m a very important person, and fully deserving of proper security around my person.”

“Are you-?”

“I’m certainly more worth more than a common garden _guard_ dragged up from the gutter by people who really should’ve known better!”

…And that’s when it gets properly annoying.

“Sit down, Rahotep,” he snaps, rising to his own feet and glaring until the man wavers and guiltily sinks back into his chair, “at present moment that _soldier_ is contributing far more to the wellbeing of this kingdom than you are. If you are going to be disruptive, rude and downright cruel to such an important person then I will have to find a different representative of Isis to sit at this table. Is that understood?”

He tries not to get pleasure from the man’s little nod. He fails, quite dramatically.

Later he ends up sneaking through the gardens yet again, carefully searching until he comes across a familiar figure sitting on a bench and staring out at nothing. He hesitates for a long few moments before shrugging, settling down besides the man and crossing his arms over his knee. It takes a few moments more before Antranak finally turns to him and clears his throat.

“…You did well today.”

“He insulted you,” he returns softly, meeting Antranak’s eyes and trying to produce the most soothing smile possible, “he, who knows very well that his father used to sell bread in the disreputable end of Thebes. Talk about throwing stones in glass houses, he was practically standing in a glass _palace_.”

Antranak laughs a little at that, holds his gaze. He’s starting to look a little more cheerful already – that’s a good thing, he supposes “…I wasn’t out of order?”

“Of course not,” he soothes, and keeps smiling in return – finding that he can’t quite help it, not with a man like Antranak shooting him a glance like that, “you were perfectly within your rights. You would’ve been perfectly within your rights to smack him, in my opinion.”

“I think it’s for the best that I didn’t actually do so,” Antranak snorts, and they both laugh – so loud that a few birds start from the trees and shoot away with disapproving glances in their general direction. When he drags his eyes away from them he’s surprised to find Antranak still staring, just as intensely as ever “…Thank you. It means more than you would think.”

“Any time,” he offers, caught by those eyes, and finds himself reaching a hand out – gently resting it on Antranak’s shoulder, “and if you ever want to talk about it… Well, I’m right here too.”

And that’s how it continues to change, stranger and stranger.

\--

It’s a few days later, after another night of nightmares and another morning of Rahotep making pointed comments, that he makes a soft suggestion to Antranak in a corridor and the man nods a little too hard in return. He hurries off to fill a hamper with several types of food and make sure that the government really won’t collapse in his absence, Antranak goes to find some horses and presumably make sure that the same doesn’t happen with the guards. They meet again about half an hour later, saddle up and creep out of one of the side entrances to the city.

They ride for about an hour or so until they reach a green hill in the middle of nowhere. He unpacks the food as Antranak ties up the horses. They sit down to a slightly awkward meal of figs and bread and wondering about invitations.

…Until he accidentally throws a fig at Antranak, of course. And then things get a lot more interesting.

Several hours later, after several foodfights and so much laughter that his stomach still aches, they lie on their backs and watch the moon rise. The stars glint above, so far away that he wonders if the thing once inside his head really _could’ve_ come from them. The silence stretches on, content and somehow happy. He’s mildly surprised to realize just how comfortable he feels in Antranak’s company.

“Sometimes I want to punch all those priests in the face. I can feel them looking down on me, even if their blood is hardly more refined.”

…How comfortable Antranak feels in his company, as a confession is made and he rises up on his elbows to glance thoughtfully down at the man.

“Sometimes I want to run away,” fair is fair, the truth isn’t that much of a boon to give, “I know that it’s been years, and I know that the kingdom hasn’t collapsed yet… But I still feel like a silly little priest a lot of the time. A little boy, playing pretend in the pharaoh’s robes.”

Antranak’s answering smile is reason enough not to regret it – not that he could regret it anyway, there’s something therapeutic about the truth when it drips from the tongue in the company of somebody safe, “I don’t feel ashamed of my origins, but… Sometimes I wish they were just a little bit grander, so I felt a little worthier of the company I’m keeping.”

His smile only grows bigger in response. He barely notices how they’ve moved closer, so their thighs are pressing together with not a bit of air between them, “I’m starting to stop believing in things. And I know that’s bad, but… Well, it’s hard to help it after everything that happened. I know far too much now, I’m not sure quite what to make of it.”

“I used to dream of being a lion when I was a kid. My mother, the poor woman, knitted me a little doll and I carried it everywhere for the first few years of my life. I think I still have it on me somewhere, actually. Tucked away in a corner of my quarters along with all the other stuff I refuse to be ashamed of.”

“I’ve always liked the stars, but I’m not quite sure what to think of them now. They’ve started to get a lot less peaceful. It’s a pity, really, because I always used to like the stars as a child. I used to sneak out of the temple at night and watch them twinkling in the sky, imagine that I could fly amongst them.”

“I would happily eat figs for the rest of my life, if I could.”

“I wish I could ride horses better, but deep down I think that I’m a little bit afraid of their tails.”

“I miss Erimem.”

“…I sometimes feel as if my brain has been turned inside out, and won’t be put the right way again until something impossible happens.”

And so on, and so forth. The flow of truths continues until the sun peeks slowly over the horizon. They get on their horses and ride back again only then, blinking the sleep from their eyes.

\-- 

Opposition to his rule is thankfully less than it was to Erimem’s, but there’s still _some_ and he really should’ve remembered that. He was taking a walk in the marketplace, a nice trip out to see the people with his guards loitering a few steps away. There was a tap on his shoulder about half an hour in, he turned with a puzzled little smile and saw a man with a knife standing there with crazed eyes. He’d lunged before the guards had got more than a few steps away.

Now, a few hours later, he cradles his bandaged hand to his chest and makes an annoyed face at the fussing doctors milling around him. It was only a small cut, the man too crazed and the guards too well trained to let anything more happen, but by the way the people around him are behaving it was a life threatening strike to his very core. He could understand it in the first hour, when poison might’ve been burrowing into his veins – but now it’s a simple annoyance.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he says tolerantly to an old man, a doctor many years in the service of the royal household and rather doddering as a result, “I don’t need any more bandages, that’s quite alright.”

“I’m okay,” he sighs softly to a doctor’s assistant, a small girl with bright eyes who is pressing a bowl urgently against him only at the command of her far too corpulent master, “really, it’s just a scratch. I think I can survive perfectly fine without whatever that is being rubbed on me.”

“I’m wonderful,” he says through gritted teeth, to a far too insistent young doctor with eyes almost as crazed as the attempted assassin’s and a far too eager smile to match, “absolutely _great_. No more bleedings today, thank _you_.”

Really, it’s just starting to get _irritating_ …

And, as if sensing his black mood, that’s when the atmosphere in the room immediately changes. Grows cosier, slightly more fearful. It takes him a moment to realize that the door has just been flung open. Takes him another moment to realize that Antranak, sweaty and trembling and obviously having sprinted from his day off, is standing in the doorway. Eyes fixed on him and absolutely nobody else.

“Antranak,” he breathes softly, and desperately hopes that it doesn’t carry. It sounds more like the breathy sigh of a lover than a legitimate remark. He can’t help it – Antranak is _stunning_ , standing there in the door.

…Moving there, from the door. The moment that their eyes meet Antranak is immediately starting forwards, shoving through the room with little care for the rank of the people around him. He shoves aside the young doctor, gently pushes away the young girl, carefully guides the old man to the side with a finger and then kneels before him. They stare at each other for a long few seconds. If he was a fool he would think that everybody else in the room was holding their breaths.

“Are you alright?” Antranak asks insistently, cupping his cheeks with two warm hands.

“Fi-fine. Better than fine, actually, I’m absolutely-“

“Is he alright?” Antranak carries on – turning first to the old man, and then quickly to the girl who is watching them with a certain confused wrinkle of her forehead, “is he _alright_? Is he- oh, there’s no use asking you. You think that more blood is the answer to absolutely _everything_.”

“Antranak,” he interrupts, biting back a laugh at the insulted expression on the young doctor’s face – he takes the wrist of the man in return, tugs him back around until their eyes meet again. That strange atmosphere remains in the room, soft and yielding and almost intoxicating with just how prominent it is, “I’m alright. No poison, no bludgeoning, no stabbing – just a little cut on my hand that should heal fairly quickly.”

Antranak stares into his eyes for one long moment. Two long moments. He thinks, abstractly, that he could drown in those eyes – sink like a stone and die happy.

…But Antranak is already moving away.

Antranak is already moving away, turning from their almost-embrace and clapping his hands at the rest of the room. Everybody, without exception, jumps – it’s like they’ve all been awoken from some spell, some strange thing that caught them all sleeping and turned their brains upside down, “alright, everybody out! And that means you, Ahmose. Give the pharaoh some air! Give the pharaoh some peace! Come on, chop chop, _out_.”

And so he watches, with fascination, as the entire room is cleared within a minute. People retreating from the bed, hauling themselves from the chairs and filing carefully out of the room as if they fear for their lives otherwise. Within a second the last one has fled with a resentful backwards glance, and it’s just him and Antranak alone in the room.

Impressed, he rises to his feet as Antranak shuts the door. The man remains with his back to him, still shaking slightly, but he advances anyway – stretches his hand out, seeking for back or shoulder or anything tangible to slap, “thank you, Antranak. I have to say, that was quite-“

He doesn’t have the time to finish.

He doesn’t have the _time_ to finish because Antranak is already spinning, already grabbing for him and reeling him close before he can choke out a single word more. The clash of their lips is a surprise, one that he freezes under. He never expected to be kissed like he meant _everything_ , like the lack of his existence would lead to the stars falling out of the sky.

…But he is being kissed like that, by _Antranak_. And so there’s no way he can’t respond.

His hands flail for a long second, but then quickly come up to lock around Antranak’s neck. He’s out of practice, but he quickly starts to kiss back and soon remembers how the old song goes. He’s- Oh, he could fill a book with the things that he is and isn’t. The only thing he can do is press himself closer, _closer_ , as close as they possibly can be with the unfortunate obstacle of clothes. 

He feels Antranak stir against him, as he licks his way into the man’s mouth. It’s all he can do not to cry out in triumph.

He isn’t expecting to be lifted, yelps softly into Antranak’s mouth when it happens. But there are worse things that could happen and this position is a lot better for feeling the growing hardness rubbing against his. It’s a good three steps to the bed, at _least_ , but Antranak covers it easily. He traces his hands over the man’s muscles, feels them hard against him and immediately desires for them to be pressed together all the time.

They tumble down onto the rough sheets of the bed inelegantly, and yet perfectly for the both of them. Antranak ends up half on top, pinning his willing body to the bed. Their kisses become more languid, longer. The tangling of their tongues is divine and already he can almost convince himself that there was no time before this, no time before the two of them. The kissing remains largely the same for a good long while before Antranak breaks from his mouth, nips slowly down his neck as the arch into each other-

“Mm,” he can’t help but breath, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of Antranak’s head, “mm, _fuck_. Antranak…”

-And that’s enough.

Within a second the man is springing back off him, leaving him bereft. He has just enough time to prop himself up on his elbows, head reeling, to see the obvious weight between Antranak’s legs before he’s turning – hurrying to the door at a speed that even a cheetah would be envious of. He watches, stunned, as the man practically slams into the wood, gropes for the handle, yanks on it…

“Antranak!” He splutters just as the door opens, scrambling up on his knees and crawling to the edge of the bed as quickly as he possibly can in his lust-dazed state.

“…My apologies, great pharaoh. I’ll scold my guards for you the next time that I see them,” is the only, muttered, reply that he receives. And then Antranak is gone – the door slamming shut behind him as finally as a punch in the face.

He waits for a long few seconds, and then slowly settles back on his haunches. He doesn’t move from his bed for about half an hour after that, watching the door incredulously.

…And that’s how it starts to conclude, really.

\--

Over the next two weeks Antranak avoids him. Not innocently, not in a way that could be misconstrued (they both have busy schedules, after all, an occasional bit of separation is absolutely nothing to worry about) – but actively, in a way that can’t fail to raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

He avoids eating together. He knows that the man still eats, an impressive bulk of that size needs a fair amount of food to maintain it, but their eating times seem to entirely split apart. Instead of hours coiled a little too close together while picking at figs he is met with stony faced ambassadors, soft-toned advisors, obnoxious priests who seem unable to stop poking at various parts of their bodies.

He stops taking walks in the gardens. Long, hot hours that were previously spent walking amongst green fronds and chatting about various things (politics, annoyances, what he did in the dark hours of the night) transformed into cold silence. The only brief flashes of warmth coming from glimpses of Antranak, watching from the sidelines and always quick to flee. 

He doesn’t _talk_ to him. Hours and hours of conversations, of sentences, of words, of laughter and chuckles and smiles and unnoticed touches and noticed touches and everything in between reduced right down to-

Silence.

Utter, and complete.

The final straw comes when he wakes up exactly a fortnight after the kiss, drenched in sweat and with the scar on his hand throbbing with a phantom ache. Within a second he’s rolling out of bed, hitting the floor and half-crawling towards the door. Damn pride, damn Antranak’s stubborn silence, damn the odd little reservations that his waking self holds onto so fiercely – he is scared, and he is trembling, and he is going to grab that muscled form and drag it into his room and wrap his thighs around it and kiss it silent and-

The guard, standing outside his door, is a skinny boy that looks in his early twenties at most. They star at each other for a long few moments before he remembers his duties, draws himself up straight and attempts something that could probably be called a salute, “great pharaoh!”

He knows that it isn’t kind, but he just keeps staring anyway – flatly, disbelieving at the sight of a boy where his Antranak used to stand, “where is your commander, um…?”

“Djau Nedjes, pharaoh!” The boy only continues to blink – it occurs to him, dazedly, that he should probably show a little mercy to his wide eyes and timid form, “and, um… He said that I should take this shift, and that Ptahhotep should take it tomorrow. He thought that you’d prefer it that way, you see. He said something about-“

_Oh_.

“Thank you,” he interrupts, though gritted teeth, and forces a smile at the boy before he gently closes the door, turns and storms fiercely away. He manages to last until he reaches the bed before he punches something and coils into a glaring ball. He considers it a victory, really.

And that’s how it continues to conclude.

\--

The breaking point comes very soon after the discovery of another guard, after several days of severe anger. He knows that he’ll probably have to apologize for it later. He was cruel and unjust, said and did several things that were not all that nice. He hopes that he can make it up to everybody that he’s encountered over the past few days – he’d feel terribly guilty if he couldn’t.

…But for now.

It’s a mistake, really, them crashing into each other again. Him moving too fast, Antranak too slow. He’s been taking another march around the garden, an actual and proper _march_ with his nails digging crescent moons into his palms and his teeth subtly grinding together. Antranak had been watching him from behind a plant, he supposes. Hadn’t anticipated his sudden turn quickly enough and so had been left standing in the middle of the path with wide eyes.

…Staring.

Staring at him.

“…Great pharaoh,” the man manages, after several seconds of silent staring, and quickly turns upon his heel – the intention to flee obvious in every inch of him, a trembling weight that practically hangs over the skin, “sorry for interrupting your doubtlessly important walk, I’ll-“

“Antranak!” The yell is out of his mouth before he quite realizes it, echoing in the air louder than he ever imagined. He’s stunned, incredibly so, to notice that Antranak has actually stopped – frozen in the middle of the path, shoulders stiff and arms rigid by his sides. He can’t resist the urge to take a quick step forwards, another, yet another with the air trying to catch in his lungs “…Stay right where you are, turn around to face me and try not to move otherwise.”

There’s a long pause. And then Antranak gulps, sighs, shuffles slowly around with his head tilted down. Their eyes don’t meet, and he misses that old closeness. Antranak seems determined to look anywhere but him.

…Still. He takes another step closer, breathes in a few times before carrying on. Antranak not looking at him hurts, almost like the wound from that actual blade that has almost healed by now, but that’s no reason not to forge on as best as possible, “why have you been avoiding me for the past few weeks?”

Antranak shifts for a long few seconds. He seems to be hesitating over whether to give an answer or just remain silent and submissive “…I’ve been avoiding you?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he snaps, and is mildly surprised to find that he has such a tone in him – by the brief flicker across Antranak’s face the man feels much the same, even if it soon fades to an oddly uncomfortable sort of fascination, “you’ve stopped taking food with me, you don’t walk with me in the gardens anymore and this is the first conversation that we’ve had in almost three weeks that has lasted longer than a sentence. You have been avoiding me, and I want to know _why_.”

Antranak, in response to that, does fall silent. Drops his gaze even lower, flickering across the floor like it’s about to open into some trap door and send him sprawling into some mercifully dark land.

“ _Antranak_.”

“…I thought you were smart, great pharaoh,” he certainly wasn’t expecting that. But the brief return to the old Antranak is almost enough to bring a smile to his face, is definitely enough to bring hope back to his heart, “the reason why I’ve been avoiding you is perfectly obvious. Do you really want to make me say it out loud?”

There’s a long pause…

“Yes,” he’s surprised to find himself saying, yet again. The certainty in his voice is something entirely new, something entirely _necessary_ considering that Antranak still isn’t looking at him. Antranak still isn’t saying any words that make sense. Antranak seems to _acknowledge_ what happened, but also seems to feel oddly guilty about it, “if that’s what it’ll take to end this stalemate, then _yes_ , Antranak.”

There’s an even longer pause.

“I kissed you,” falls out of Antranak’s mouth all in a rush, the tide breaking and the walls crumbling and the truth shining out in a way both irresistible and _stunning_ , “I kissed you and I pressed you to the bed and, Ra help me, I intended to strip you of your clothes and make you scream my name. I did this when you were dazed, I did this when you were uncertain and hurt and unable to refuse me. And I ruined our friendship over my stupid desires, and I know that you’re probably going to strip me of my position and execute me now, and I also know that I deserve it, and-“

He’s so stunned that he’s rendered speechless by the rush, mouth gawping open and eyes going wide and everything entirely fixed upon Antranak and Antranak’s voice and Antranak’s _everything_.

…He’s so stunned that the only way he can think of to stop it is a swift step forwards, a quick lean up and a soft seal of his mouth over Antranak’s.

They kiss for a while, long enough for Antranak to slowly start to respond with timid lips and a soft tongue, before he finally draws back. They regard each other from a close distance, still both slightly stunned. His attention is eventually caught by the glisten of Antranak’s lips, clearly claimed by him. He allows his eyes to trace over them for a long few minutes before slowly smirking and speaking again.

“Antranak,” his voice is a little more ragged than he would like. He’ll have to work on that, he supposes, “never, _ever_ think that you took advantage of me. I have wanted you for months, years, for as long as I can remember. To have you kissing me, and pressing me down, and even _thinking_ of my voice screaming your name… Well, it’s a dream come true.”

Antranak just stares at him for a dazed few seconds after that, as if he’s entirely forgotten how to speak. When he finally manages it, his voice is just as rough, “you’re joking.”

“If I was joking would I have kissed you back?” He demands, and manages to step even closer – so they’re pressed chest to chest, warm body to warm body separated only by the inconvenient weight of clothes, “would I have kissed you then? Would I have…” Barely thinking, he rises up on his toes and presses a chaste kiss to the disbelieving line of Antranak’s mouth, “kissed you there?” Another kiss to the tenseness of Antranak’s jaw, “or there?” yet another pressed to the faintly trembling line of his neck, “or-?”

“We’re in public,” Antranak grabs his shoulders, shoves him back – not a proper shove, since the intention isn’t there and he’s far too shaky besides. When their eyes finally meet he is stunned almost breathless at what he sees in them – confusion, tempered by a glorious something that seems to be blossoming into hope “…Honestly, boy. Do you want to give Rahotep any more reasons to mock us?”

He, after a moment of deliberation, only smiles. Wide, and bright, and as fizzy as the feeling after a glass of alcohol.

He’s surprised when Antranak takes to regarding it with an expression that can only be called awe, is even more surprised when the man obviously makes an effort to maintain both expression and eye contact – squaring his shoulders no matter how awkward it makes him “…Truly?”

“Truly,” he responds instantly, knowing that the time for teasing is past – he slowly lifts his hands, traces them over Antranak’s shaking wrists before taking them in a firm grasp and turning his head sideways for a brief and brushing kiss, “truer than anything else, if I am to tell the truth and absolutely nothing but.”

“…Oh.”

He only smiles even brighter in response.

…And that’s how it continues to conclude, happily.

\--

They’re afraid at the beginning, timid, uncertain over how to progress in their new relationship. Everything seems strange and new, a different landscape that they haven’t quite learned to navigate yet. They don’t know when to hold hands, or when to just be happy with each other’s company. They don’t know when to kiss, or when to just smile at each other fondly and let it go. They don’t know whether to respond when he mouths at Antranak’s pulse and Antranak tugs hard at his hair, or-

…It’s complicated.

But they’re willing to learn.

They start with just being close to each other, a proximity that is intoxicating with how much new meaning there is piled on top of it. They eat dinner together, they go walking in the gardens, they talk pretty much constantly – a stream of words warmer than any sun. Their closeness is intentional now, noticed by both of them. He presses his knee gently against Antranak’s thigh and Antranak responds with a single heavy hand spread across his back.

They progress from there to the hand holding. The earlier touches could’ve just been friendliness, a pair of best friends comfortable enough to dispense with a few boundaries. There’s something more intimate in the touching of the hands, though – something meaningful about palms pressed against each other intentionally. They do it once or twice in the privacy of their chambers, just to test the result, and then find themselves doing it all the time. He even finds his hand in Antranak’s on one evening walk, through the gardens. He only smiles in response and briefly rests his head against the man’s shoulder.

They also smile fondly at each other all the time, to the extent where he half suspects that all the palace staff know exactly what is going on. He finds that he can’t help it, that it’s just an instinctive response when Antranak is around him. He smiles fondly over dinner, in the depths of the garden when they retire there to quietly murmur, when they’re teasing each other on the balcony that looks over the city. He finds Antranak doing much the same thing – smiling fondly in the morning over breakfast when he’s still a little sleep-rumpled, in the flowering part of the garden when he finds himself accidentally sneezing at the pollen, even midway through a small argument about an unremembered thing. It becomes so natural that it’s blissful.

As are their kisses, growing deeper and deeper every time they practice. Antranak pecks him softly in the morning, before his day properly starts. He responds with a deeper kiss around lunchtime, just after Antranak goes on another rant about certain priesthoods. Antranak follows that up with a deep exploration with his tongue, just before dinner when his stomach is grumbling and he’s tired from sorting out the messes of people and the kingdom and beyond. He retorts with a kiss to Antranak’s neck to make him boneless, follows it up with a series of kisses that make him breathless just before they retire to their beds…

And that inevitably leads to the final thing, the deepest thing. The both of them coiled up on his bed. His tongue lathering over Antranak’s pulse as the man presses him down into the bed, Antranak’s hands yanking in his hair in a successful attempt to get more. At least half a night of languid exploration, the barriers between them melting away by the day.

“My,” he finds himself gasping after one particularly involved session, lying on his back with Antranak’s arm flung over his waist and Antranak’s breath hot against his ear, “tell me, how long have you been thinking about doing that?”

“Mm,” he can’t help a shudder at the even warmer rush of air, can’t help an even bigger one at the feeling of Antranak’s fingers – sleepily rubbing at his waist through the paltry barrier of cloth, “since you were seventeen, to be exact. I mocked you about the gods, you only turned around and chided me in return. The sensation of wanting to press you back against the city wall was a shock, but nothing that I couldn’t master.”

He smiles a little, faintly stunned. As if sensing it, Antranak moves forwards – gently mouths at his earlobe. He cries out softly at the strange sensation, tilts his head right back. He can only be persuaded to still again by the soft press of Antranak’s hand against his waist, a soothing rumble that convinces his desire to abate for just a moment.

“…What about you?”

He smiles again, a little wider this time. Turns his head sideways for a soft kiss, “about the same, oddly enough.” 

And that’s how it continues to conclude, happier and happier.

\--

They take the final step about two months after they’ve first kissed, on the anniversary of… Everything. It’s the night after a nightmare, the night after he awoke sobbing and covered in sweat, and he’s spent most of the day lost in thought. Pacing back and forth, only the gentle touches and concerned eyes of Antranak serving to guide him from place to place.

It’s been horrible.

Strange.

Enlightening.

And that night, after the dazed business of the day is done and the celebrations are set for the next week or so, he turns to Antranak and carefully asks, “stay the night?” In a tone that trembles and shudders and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Antranak’s eyes widen, he takes a deep breath and glances around the corridor. They both know that this is the final stepping stone, the final shuddering hop on a path that has led them through possessions and nightmares and a thousand other things that all whisper clearly of the universe beyond them.

…But then he nods.

And follows his gentle tug forwards, retreating into his room and shutting the door behind them as if to lock the whole world out.

They kiss chastely at first, almost timidly as in the first days of their courtship. They stay by the door, not advancing any further into the room from which there can be no return. He presses his palms flat against Antranak's chest, Antranak simply tugs him closer and breathes hot air over his lips before kissing him again. They remain close mouthed, comforting. They've gone too far to betray each other's trust in any other way.

But eventually they start to sway slightly, move closer and closer together... And eventually it changes, as quickly as that.

Suddenly, within a blink, the kiss deepens. He's not sure if he licks across Antranak's lips or if Antranak moves beyond the bounds of closeness, but suddenly they're inside each other's mouths and breathless with it. He's tasted Antranak before, of course, many times - but somehow this seems different, deeper. Like something small has changed and brought the whole universe into a new sector of time.

The kiss grows deeper and deeper, more and more passionate. They both kiss like they're drowning, though neither of them have ever felt the sensation. It reminds him of the first time that they kissed, and he feels a certain thrill. One of the best days of his life, toppled from its throne. The best kind of conquering imaginable.

And eventually it grows even closer to that eventful day, as Antranak securely wraps his arms around his waist and lifts him just as easily as last time. It isn't so much a testament to his weakness, as a testament to Antranak's strength. It's intoxicating, delicious. He gives a pleased murmur against Antranak's lips and is even more pleased to hear the response, as he's easily carried across the room and to the bed with its tempting sheets and promise of so much more.

Antranak presses him down against the bed and quickly moves from his lips to kiss down his throat. He kisses right to the top of his robes, and then reverses the trend as he wriggles pleasurably. He welcomes the return to his mouth with only the slightest bit of reluctance, submits to a languid session of lips on lips and tongue on tongue with genuine pleasure. Within a second he can't remember his disappointment, within a few moments beyond that the rest of the world has faded away to leave only them. Coiled perfectly together like nothing else really matters.

...Because it doesn't.

Not really.

He soon starts to get impatient again.

This time it is him to leave Antranak's mouth, and with a little more success. He adores Antranak, practically loves him with a devotion that would shock a fair few by this point, but the man's main skill rests in his hands. He, however, is a lot more skilled with his mouth and _uses_ it - the softness of his lips across Antranak's cheek, the tease of his tongue against Antranak's slack jaw, the scrape of his teeth down Antranak's neck and beyond. Soon the man is writhing on top of him.

...And that makes flipping him over and moving to gently straddle his muscular hips the easiest thing in the world.

He takes his mouth briefly from Antranak's skin, only to observe the flush upon his cheeks and the lust-glazed look in his eyes, before smiling and carefully edging his body down. It isn't a skill that he particularly flaunts, he doubts that he would get a good reception if he did, but it is one that he has practiced and received favourable reports on - he undoes one shoulder of Antranak's garment only with his teeth, eases the next one briefly with his fingers before doing the same and swiftly sliding back. Flipping down the cloth until Antranak's upper half is entirely bared to him.

"My," the man comments, his eyes clearing a little to make way for an impressed light - he can't help smiling as Antranak’s slow hand reaches up to feel his neck, and then his shoulder, "good trick, boy."

"Haven't I told you not to call me that in bed?" He teases...

And is immediately surprised, and pleased, when their position is swiftly reversed yet again. Him suddenly on his back and Antranak hovering half-bare above him, looking down on his form with appreciative eyes.

...Fair is fair.

Fair is more than fair, as Antranak proceeds to kiss him and then proceeds even further to strip him, using those talented hands to take him completely apart. His top half is bared, and then even lower - within what seems like less than a minute he is entirely naked on the bed, entirely naked under Antranak's body and hands and roving eyes.

There's a long pause, as the man takes him in and he tries not to squirm.

"...Gorgeous," there's no need, after all. Antranak is smiling in an awestruck way, like he's just seen the smiling face of god. He leans in for another kiss, a soft and hot one, and then immediately takes the opportunity to reach down and _palm_ him - calloused fingers curling hot around his cock so that the only option is to arch up and let a spluttering moan echo out around the room, "Mm, completely and utterly so. I'm so glad that-"

"Lovely," he manages, in strangled tones, and grabs Antranak's shoulders - hard enough that his nails dig in and _hopefully_ carry across the point, "wonderful. I don't suppose - ah! - that you'd want to return the favour anytime soon?"

Antranak, at that hint, lets go with one final squeeze. He sits back on his haunches, smirking and powerful. It doesn't take too long for him to remove the rest of his clothing.

Antranak, naked, is even more of a vision than he was in his imagination. The sculpted muscles of his chest dipping down into the V of his hips would be enough to drive any person to flame-hot insanity. His skin gleams with sweat, his eyes gleam with something more - when he leans in to press their mouths back together, and their bodies underneath, he considers the theory that the man is actively trying to drive him to that state.

...He doesn't mind, not a bit.

They kiss a little more, lazy and naked. Languid, almost, completely assured of their desire for each other for the very first time. Their mouths open easily, their tongues tangle smoothly - they kiss, yet again, like they're drowning in each other. A so, so sweet drowning that he _never_ wants to stop.

...But that he does, however, rather want to continue. To _progress_ , as a more accurate term. After they've been kissing for about a minute he spreads his legs a little wider, makes an inviting noise meant to encourage all things along. When Antranak is slow to respond, absorbed in learning the top of his mouth, he simply pushes a little harder - lifting his thighs up and clenching them around Antranak's waist. That, unsurprisingly, gets the man to pause for at least a second.

And _huff_ , for his Antranak knows him _so_ very well, against his mouth - a thoughtful question that makes his skin thrill at the very shape of it, "oil?"

"Bless," he smirks, but can't quite get out any more mocking than that - can only rise up on his elbows, press one kiss to Antranak's mouth and another to his cheek, "the first table besides the bed, top drawer."

And that, of course, provides yet another opportunity for his Antranak to show just how wonderful he truly is. They don't even separate as he moves for the oil - only flip briefly, him luxuriating on top as Antranak gropes awkwardly for the oil, draws it out with stuttering fingers and almost spills it all over the bed before he manages to steady him.

"...Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Antranak doesn't... Instead chooses to develop onto something _better_. He flips them over easily, with only a mock grumble of protest to mark the occasion, slicks up one finger quicker than he can blink and-

_Ah_.

He's done this to himself quite recently, he _remembers_ doing it on the first night that Antranak heard him in the middle of lust, but it's been a while since he was penetrated even slightly by another person. He throws his head back, groans softly through his teeth. Antranak presses a worshipful kiss to his collarbone in response and starts to move, driving even deeper with sharp movements that cause fireworks to explode behind his eyes.

Within a few minutes, a maddening few minutes with Antranak's single finger enough to tease but not _quite_ satisfy, he's loose enough for another finger to be added. He recalls a murmur, a soft warning, but when it eventually comes to the matter it is a complete surprise. He makes a slightly louder noise, a yelping one. Antranak immediately stills and presses a hand to his hip, and so he has to open his eyes and give a slight nod to show that everything is alright. That he's fine, just overwhelmed by something that can only be called _emotion_.

"Yes," he still rasps out, when that doesn't seem to be quite enough - reaching out a shaky hand to brush across Antranak's bitten collarbone, "yes, _more_."

And-

_Fuck_!

-Of course Antranak responds immediately. He's near perfect in these moments, after all, how could he do anything but?

Antranak stretches him with three fingers for a few babbling moments, long enough for the world to white out and his mouth to drop open. He thinks that he's babbling words without control, fragments of things that he can't quite hear over the building throb of pleasure. Antranak looks flattered, at least, so he supposes that he isn't tearing down the world around him. When he focuses he can just about make out the thrum of his voicebox, the repetition of Antranak's name and _more_.

"Fuck, Antranak, _fuck_ Moremoremore, _Antranak_ -"

And, to his extreme luck, his darling man is nice enough to immediately respond yet again.

There's a brief drawing back for slicking up, and he immediately whines at the loss. It's a testament to his speed and thoroughness that Antranak returns but a second later, kissing his lips and gently soothing him back to a babbling state of bliss. To his eyes the man looks equally lost, equally dazed, equally blissful with life and all that it involves as he slides between his legs and nips at his jaw and-

_Ah_.

The feeling of him inside is a strange one, slightly painful for a long few moments of stunned shock. He comes to settle almost fully in, a strange expression on his face that is probably reflected. They stare for a long few moments, almost unsure yet again. The pain still throbs a little, at the edge of his senses. Antranak, in return, looks a little like he's just landed on another planet and immediately crashed into something blue and dangerous.

But then the man _kisses_ him again.

...And things flow out from there, really.

He writhes as Antranak starts to move inside him in earnest, the pain soon fading to a dull kind of discomfort and then away entirely. Soon he is rocking like nothing ever seen, his head thrown back and his mouth gaping slowly open. His world narrows down even further, to the slap of flesh on flesh and the sounds of Antranak above him.

And oh, the _sounds_. For some reason he expected Antranak to be quiet in bed, but somehow (wonderfully) that couldn't be further from the truth. He can hear the man panting above him, slow and deep sounds that practically drive him wild. He can tell that his Antranak is working at it, _longing_ for it - how could anybody be unaffected when sounding as desperate as that, after all?

In response he pushes himself, further and further until he feels like he's some athlete dedicated to the competition. The sounds come out of his lips naturally, he just has to make the slightest effort to make them a little louder. Moans spill from his lips, unravelling things. He grows louder and louder, more and more passionate. Already he feels like he's falling apart.

Falling apart under his Antranak who, given such encouragement, only starts to go faster. Deeper and deeper, harder and harder as if trying to pull him apart entirely. Soon he will be nothing, a simple ball of pleasure upon the bed. He thinks that he wouldn't mind that state, as Antranak reaches a hand between them and wraps it around him like he's something more than precious.

And, still under such focused attention and burning lust, he can only continue to unravel. Throw his head back, bare his throat, throw open his entire body to Antranak. He can have it, every inch of it. He knows how to treat it, how to respect it. He probably always has, in small secret ways that they were both too stupid to entirely understand.

And Antranak, Antranak above him, is swearing at that. Like he's just realized exactly the same thing. Like the sight of them joining so perfectly is manna from heaven to him. Like he's just seen the face of God-

And- And- _And_ -

They both fall apart together, him first but Antranak only a few seconds afterwards. A display of unison that would stun him, if he couldn't see and feel only white. He comes down only slowly, by blissful little increments. When he does Antranak is there, staring at him like he’s some god - with mouth open and eyes glossily wide. The only response is to reach up and kiss him, sooth over his mouth with his tongue and murmur meaningful things from the back of his throat.

In the aftermath they coil together in his bed, separate but still so close that it hardly makes a difference. He rests his head on Antranak's shoulder, Antranak wraps an arm around his hips. He feels completely at peace, in a way that is almost better than the overwhelming rush of pleasure.

"You have a filthy mouth in bed," Antranak manages eventually, in a rough tone. He hardly looks like he minds, his head is tilted slightly down as if he's longing for a kiss.

"Do I?" He asks, delighted, and moves himself up on slightly aching muscles - closes the gap as easily as anything.

\--

The find comes several months later, after a casual browse around Antranak's room. It's been another hot day, the first properly hot one in a while. It was deemed too burning for business, and so he was able to spend all day in bed with Antranak - sprawled together in sweaty sheets, alternately dozing and making love as the mood took them.

It's after dark when he finds it, buried amongst several boxes of stuff. It's ragged and at the bottom, but he catches a glimpse and just has to have it. A memory from those few months ago driving him on, leading him to tug and tug until the thing falls into his naked hand.

...Hm.

_Interesting_.

He finds Antranak naked like him on the balcony outside his room, muscular arms crossed on the stone barrier and eyes keenly watching the city below. He debates sliding cheekily in behind, wrapping his arms around the man's hips and driving him into a frenzy... But no, they have managed it three times already today. For now he just feels a slow, sated burn in the bottom of his stomach - one that drives him to insinuate himself at Antranak's side inside, give him a warm smile as he leans against his shoulder.

"Hey."

"Hello," Antranak murmurs, with an absent smile, and leans in to kiss him - he smiles, snuggles even further into the man's side. It's a testament to how long they've lasted, that he doesn't immediately feel the need to take advantage of their nakedness for the whole world to see "...Mm. What's that you've got there?"

He doesn't say a word, doesn't really see the need for them. Instead he only lifts his arms slightly. Displays what's cradled in them to Antranak's curious gaze, suddenly focused entirely on him.

"Is that...?" He smiles smugly as the man reaches out his free hand to take the offering, lifts it right up to his face and peers at it like it’s just diagnosed the meaning of life, "by Ra, and Isis, and anybody else who may be listening. My little lion."

"The one and the same," he laughs gently, and accepts another kiss with a warm smile upon his face - Antranak looks happy, and that is more than enough for him. It's good, to feel so deeply for another person, "I found it while poking around, I hope you'll forgive me."

"Instantly," Antranak offers gallantly, and only draws him closer - holds him like he's still something precious, something never to let go of "...I'm watching the stars. Want to stay here for a while?"

He smiles with delight, at the thought that Antranak knows him just as well. Snuggles even closer, his head on Antranak's shoulder and his eyes already roving to the sky beyond. It’s less terrifying, somehow, with somebody that you care about - the dark spaces in between and the haunting call to memories fading into a faint buzz, a siren call to adventure that it's ever so hard to deny.

Antranak presses a soft kiss to the side of his head, he smiles a little wider at the thought.

And that’s how it blossoms, really and oddly and in the best way possible.


End file.
